


The Concerns of an Inter-Dimensional Abductee

by b_g__tt__a_ue__e



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alternate Universes, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, And attempted humour, And is kidnapped by a group of children as a result, Angst, Black Paladin Shiro (Voltron), Blue Paladin Lance (Voltron), But they're not in space so I guess they're just lesbian pirate warlords, Clairvoyant Romelle, Except Keith and Shiro, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, For adashi, Galra Empire, Galra Keith (Voltron), High warlock Adam, Hint: It's the paladins, In the form of Ezor and Zethrid, Lesbian space pirate warlords, M/M, Magical warfare written by someone with no experience in magical warfare, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Or warfare of any kind, Paladin Hunk, Paladin Pidge, Queen Allura, Red Paladin Keith (Voltron), Royal Advisor Coran, Shiro is mistaken for The Chosen One™, Slow Burn, The other relationships are already established, They messed up, They're all altean, human shiro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-06-25 21:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_g__tt__a_ue__e/pseuds/b_g__tt__a_ue__e
Summary: Shiro wakes from a bump in the night. He wakes to slanted moonlight and electricity humming and creaking floorboards. He wakes to soft rain and monochrome vision and cold air.Oh yeah, and 4 hooded figures at the end of his bed.Or: Shiro was just a regular guy, or so he thought, until one day a group of hooded people appeared in his room claiming he was the chosen one and whisked him off to a magical land. One problem: the chosen one was in the next room overAdapted from: https://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/176809483752/you-where-just-a-regular-orphan-or-so-you-thought





	1. Introduction: Concerning Four Hooded Figures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so this is my first fic, and more than anything is just an excuse to write Adashi and Klance to get over season 7  
> If you enjoy it (and I really hope you do), any comments would be so helpful and motivational to an anxious wreck like myself

Shiro's apartment was old. The floorboards creaked and the door hinges squeaked, and the window panes would rattle at even the smallest breeze. You would think that having lived there for nearly three years, he would be able to sleep through the groans and grumbles of the flat, but instead it meant that he got very little rest.

So at half past twelve, when the boards at the end of his bed shrieked unusually loud, Shiro was awake and alert almost instantaneously. He lay on his side, eyes open and drinking in the black-and-white view of his room; frostbitten glass behind tattered blinds, his prosthetic arm resting against the nightstand, a door that never shut and exposed brick walls. It all looked different at night, the various stains and disfigurements of the room erased by the moonlight: at night, he might even go as far to say that the room looked nice (in a ramshackled sort of way). He can hear the rain pattering softly on the ceiling, one of the perks of having an apartment on the top floor, and he hums contentedly to himself, rolling over to get into a more comfortable position. As he does so, he shakes off the last dregs of sleepy unawareness, and comes to the sudden realisation that he is not alone in his room.

Shiro freezes, breathing stilling, eyes open, unmoving. There, at the end of the bed, are three - no, four - cloaked figures shrouded in heavy black cloth, faces concealed by hoods. The robes seem almost cartoon-like, something that you might see in an old movie or at a convention. In the darkness - in his _home_ \- it stops his heart.

They're standing in single file, shoulder to shoulder. The three closer to the window - the ones he originally saw - are ridiculously tall. The tallest is a hulking figure, broad and strong and probably hovering around 6’5 - about an inch or so bigger than Shiro himself. Despite the darkness of the night and the cloaks that mask their build, the figure besides them is nowhere near as broad as the first, appearing more lanky. They're maybe three inches shorter than the former, but hold an equal height distance between themselves and the third being, who Shiro guesses is about 5’11. The fourth one, the one he had not seen, is so short besides them - they can't be more than 5 foot tall - he would have found it comical under different circumstances. Here, it makes fear pulse through his veins.

For what feels like forever, the beings simply state at him in silence. After perhaps a minute - maybe more, maybe less - Shiro begins to come up with last-ditch attempts to try and persuade his adrenaline-addled brain that they can't be real. Maybe it's a hallucination, he tries to convince himself, some sort of sleep paralysis or night terror. Then the second figure - the lanky one - cocks their head to the side and speaks, dispersing Shiro's desperate theory.

"This is so _awkward_ , Keith." It stage whispers, leaning towards the shorter-but-not-the-shortest slightly but not turning it's face away from Shiro. The voice makes him start, sends a jolt through his body and Shiro is suddenly, _horribly_ aware that this is real. And although his brain is starting to turn again, catching up with the weirdness of the night, he still can't move a single centimetre. The being continues uninterrupted "Maybe we should introduce ourselves. Yeah. Yeah, let's do that." It's voice gets gradually louder, confirming it's own idea as none of it's companions make any sound of agreement or disagreement. At least, not out loud. The creature is speaking again, addressing Shiro this time.

"Um. Hi. I, uhh, I'm Lance." 'Lance' raises a limb, gesturing towards its own chest. Shiro cannot confirm with full certainty that it's a hand, as the cloak has trailing sleeves that are much longer than what he guesses is an arm. 'Lance' indicates the hulking figure on it's right. "This is Hunk," then the shorter-but-not-the-shortest "and this is Keith. The shorty over there is Pidge." Introductions finished, 'Lance' goes back to standing in uncomfortable silence. The one called 'Pidge' is quick to break it, however. "Christ, Lance, you're so fucking awkward." It mutters, before reaching into it's pocket and drawing out an object that flashes silver under the moonlight.

The movement snaps Shiro out of his paralysis. In a heartbeat, he's lunging out of his bed, desperately grappling with his nightstand, and flinging it across the room at the intruders. They let out a uniform shriek, and scatter. He can hear them yelling to each other, but can't make out the words over the blood slamming against his eardrums, over the panic, over the animal instinct screaming at him to _get out_. There's an unearthly screeching whirling through the air, but Shiro cannot pinpoint the origin, and cannot find it within himself to care. He's too busy, trying to jerkily pull on his prosthetic and hurl projectiles at the figures simultaneously, meaning that neither task is being performed with any accuracy or success.

It's this agitation and hysteria that allows 'Pidge’ to regain it's wits and launch the object at Shiro’s unguarded back. It smashes off his spine, shattering with a high pitched noise, like glass. Everything stops. Nobody moves, like they've been frozen in the moment. The silence is deafening. Shiro can feel it: a thick liquid, spreading across his back, seeping into his skin, under his flesh, working its way sluggishly through his veins. He can hear it, whispers and static in his mind, engulfing his brain.

Then the world goes black, and he falls to the floor.

* * *

When Shiro comes to, he's on his back. He can hear wing beats and wind whistles in his ears. His eyes are open, but all he can see is black, black, black. He can feel a sudden rush of fear wash over him, anxiety rearing its ugly head and holding him down under waves of panic. His breathing becomes choked and uneven. Hyperventilation.

There's a shout in front of him, and then strong hands are gripping his shoulders, dragging him upright into a sitting position. He barely registers the dark shroud around the person, hood pulled back to reveal abrasive red, too far gone to feel how the ground is rippling unnaturally underneath him. All he can focus on is black, black sky, black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

“-ey! Hey!” There are fingers snapping in the foreground, drawing his attention away from the black, a hand holding his to a strong chest, rising and falling. Serenity, wrapping around his mind. “Hey, breathe. Breathe with me.” He can hear others, questioning, questioning, but the voice is commanding, pulling his attention away and holding firmly on breathing. “Breathe with me. In. And out. In. And out. In…” the voice carries on in this manner, and soon Shiro finds himself breathing in regular patterns again, focusing, zoning back in. The sky is black, but it's pin pricked with silver, and a circlet of white hangs high. Stars. The moon. The night sky.

Wait. The night sky?

Shiro whips his head side to side, drinking in his surroundings. Which are impossible. Surely, this can't be real.

Shiro is flying, over the city that looks like a toy set from his great height. He's suspended in the air above an ants nest of streetlights and headlamps and neon signs. The thin and sparse clouds lie to his side, eye level with him, and the stars look so _bright_ , so _close,_ without the haze of light pollution hiding them. But how? How is this possible? Shiro looks, and nearly panics again. Beneath him is a gigantic beast, easily five times the size of a shire horse, probably bigger. It's a mass of rippling muscle below him, clothed in a thin layer of sleek fur, dyed grey by the moon. From it's shoulder blades sprout monstrous wings, each one stretching out further than 40 feet on both sides of him. He's seated about five feet behind the wing joints, on some sort of saddle, his legs strapped firmly to the creature's back, the only thing keeping him from plummeting to his death. From this position he can't quite make out the shape of the creature, but it seems bizarrely feline. Looking around, Shiro can vaguely make out the hazy outline of three more of these beasts, two of which are again bigger than the one he is riding. And he must be hallucinating, because to top off all this ridiculous fantasy, he thinks he can see the miniscule shape of humanoids at the base of the monster’s necks.

Shiro shakes his head, desperately trying to clear it. This has to be the weirdest, _trippiest_ nightmare he has ever had. He focuses his attention dead ahead and nearly falls off. In front of him on the other side of the wing joints, seated at the junction between the neck and back, is a saddle, but it's empty. Dead ahead is the person who brought him back from his attack. For what must be the twentieth time tonight, Shiro's heart freezes. It's one of the hooded figures.

Only now, it's hood is gone. It's still wearing the cloak, which pulls and flaps in the gale, but the hood is gone and Shiro can see a clear visor, with borders of runes in bright and angry red, behind which he can see human-like features. But it's not a human. It's nothing Shiro has ever seen, ever heard of, ever imagined could exist. 

There are protrusions sticking out above the mask, large bat-like ears, covered in thick purple fur. Behind the visor, sharp eyes, gold and indigo, wide and honest. Lilac skin and violet scars. Fangs the length of his pinky finger where it's mouth is parted. If Shiro's legs weren't strapped to the beast, out in front of him to make it easier to lie down, he would surely have fallen off by now, from shock or passing out. He leans back, away from the thing in front of him, bracing himself on his arms - no, his _arm_. Singular. In the madness of earlier, Shiro had not been able to strap his prosthetic on. His kidnappers had clearly not thought to bring it with them. Or perhaps they had, but had just not had the patience to fit the damn thing on properly. Either way, Shiro is off balance, off key, off kilter. His head is spinning, and not just from the height. 

Purple is talking again, but not to him. Their voice rings out in close range with Shiro, but there isn't a chance in hell that the person they are talking to will hear them. Not over the wind's roar, the distance, the speed that separates the fliers. "Pidge, I thought you said that potion would last until after the wormhole jump." Purple's voice is firm and commanding of an answer, an explanation, but is not unkind. Shiro feels the slightest urge to scoff at them. How do they expect to get their answer? The aforementioned reasons mean a 100% fail rate.

But then they are nodding their head, speaking again, loud and clear. "Are you sure you took the right one? It's not like Adam to make a mistake." Shiro feels a faint shock, underneath the heavy suppressant of disbelief and dazed fear at the entire situation. How are Purple and 'Pidge' communicating? Unless Purple is delusional, the two seem to be holding a conversation, a back and forth of "Yes"s and "No"s and "Adam"s. At one point, Purple places their hands out in front of them, palms down on the back of the beast, and pushes themselves upright into a stand. Shiro is overrun by horror. What are they doing? At the speed they are going, on such an uneven surface, surely they will fall off!

But they don't. Through the grey air and water vapor, Shiro spies a cord running from an intricate harness wrapped around the riders torso and waist that connects to the saddle at the neck junction where Purple was seated. They make a show of turning lazily, walking languid and slow along the spine of the giant, between its beating wings, seemingly effortless, never losing balance, despite the buffering wind and the heavy cloak whipping about their legs. They walk it like a tightrope, one foot directly in front of the other, heel to toe, with a slight hop in each step. They're in no rush. They're unbothered by the wind - although its more of a wall at this speed, a wall of solid force that is barely deflected by the minimal barrier of the creatures head. They hopscotch back to their seat, and swing themselves back down in fluid, casual movements. Shiro is not sure whether to be impressed or horrified or disbelieving. He settles for an odd mix of the three, an amalgamation.

The wind is buffering him. He lies back, drained from the excitement, the constant rush, the whiplash from quick and dramatic mood swings and panic attacks. He's so tired. He hears Purple's voice again, one last time before he passes out. Something about a wormhole jump, going home, laughter on the wind. Then a giant spiral opens up, vast and terrifying and ancient, ringed by a border of prehistoric runes. It's a whirlpool, a galaxy, an unforgiving force, beyond human comprehension. Black and blue and purple and silver, sucked into the centre, recycled to the border, repeat, repeat. He hears whooping, hollering. Maybe he's dreaming. The beasts are sucked in, powerless in the most terrifying way. They’re absorbed, they disappear. Then it's Purple's turn, and they're speeding forwards, the pressure building up around Shiro's ears, inside his head, and it's black, black, black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initial thoughts? Good, bad or indifferent? Should I continue? Please leave feedback, I'd love to know what you think  
> Any help, constructive criticism or just general support would be greatly appreciated  
> Thanks much xx


	2. One: Concerning a High Warlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro wakes to an unfamiliar environment, four of the weirdest teenagers he's ever met, and more magic than he's ever encountered in his life (it's not a lot, but it's more than what's in his universe)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to be posting this for the next couple of days, but I was really excited to see your response to it, so I cut the chapter in half.  
> Thankyou all so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. It really is motivating to know that people are enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it

Shiro is awake. He's awake, but his eyes stay closed. His head is pounding, and the back of his eyelids are lit up gold from the sunlight filtering in through his window. Too bright, nearly painful, it makes him groan and pull the downy blankets up over his head to escape it. He sighs in relief when the light cuts out, plunging him into sweet sweet darkness. The bed is unbelievably soft, he's practically sinking into the mattress.

His smile falters. Something feels off about the level of comfort he's in; the heavy blankets, the innumerable pillows, the satin sheets. Shiro's eyes snap open, and he throws the blankets off his face, sitting up sharply and blinking away the colours and shapes floating across his vision. Hypotension. It takes him a moment to gather his senses. When they do, his breath is taken away.

The room he's in is not his own. It's at least twice the size of his entire apartment. The walls are white and have gold trim at the edges. Floor-to-ceiling windows line the entire left side of the room, allowing light to trickle in through the gauzy curtains, dying the very air in a soft glow of honey. The floor and furniture are made from a dark, lacquered wood that shines under the sun, and any fabric in the room is either ivory or saffron: sofas and armchairs and carpets, even the blankets and pillows piled around him. A floral fragrance hangs heavy in the air, and the whole scene is impossibly beautiful, perfect and completely overwhelming his senses.

A faint laugh is pulled from his lips, disbelieving rather than humorous, frantic and almost crazed. The laughter carries on - an endless, breathless stream - as he sinks back down into the stupidly soft bed. “Oh God,” he whispers “Oh my _God_.” He doesn't feel capable of saying anything else.

He must lie there, giggling and blaspheming, for a good ten minutes before he gets up to inspect the room. He throws himself down on every cushy sofa and chair, samples the ripe fruits presented in crystal cut bowls that lie on every table in the room, handles every ornament and throws them up in the air in a game of one-man-catch. Nothing about it seems real, but he can feel everything, sense everything, and maybe Shiro is in some sort of coma. Do comas feel this real? Shiro doesn't know.

At one point, he passes a full body mirror, or rather, what would be a full body mirror for the 30 foot creatures from last night. As he's passing besides it, he glimpses his reflection and freezes. What the _fuck_ has happened this hair? A large tuft at the front of his head has been bleached of colour overnight. Shiro clutches at it in despair: he's too young to go white!

After an hour, he's inspected everything and has reached the other end of the room. There's a door set into the alabaster wall in front of him now, burnished wood and an intricately crafted gold handle, which he twists, pushing it inwards. It opens - surprisingly easy for a door of that size - and Shiro stumbles out, having put in way too much force. He quickly rights himself, and scans his surroundings. A long corridor, high-ceilinged and ornate. He can hear footsteps echoing, and voices - whispers, and one voice that repeatedly rises before being hushed by the others - and quickly looks for a place to hide. He debates going back into the room, but there's a table besides him and the noises are getting closer. Acting on adrenaline and instinct, Shiro crawls head first under the floor length tablecloth.

Under the table, he feels like a child playing games, but he can't bring himself to face whoever is coming. The fear he felt last night, the terror of being ripped away from his bed, his _home_ , by cult-looking abductors on the backs of unholy behemoths, while he could do nothing to stop them - it's there, wrapped around him like a second skin. He's in an unknown environment, potentially a hostile one despite the cushy room he woke up to. God, what is his life coming to?

They're getting closer, louder. Within seconds, they're passing besides the table, but then he hears them stop. Why did they stop? His question is answered when the tablecloth is unceremoniously flung up, exposing him. He may or may not let out a high-pitched scream. If he does, it's an intimidation tactic, not a sign of fear. He hears laughter, loud and abrasive and suddenly cut off by a choked exclamation and the sound of an elbow connecting with someone's ribs. Then there are four faces level with his, young and inquisitive and ignorant of personal space. Two have dark skin, another has glasses and the fourth is purple. Purple? Before he can process this development, there are hands on his arm, dragging him forward and out into the hallway. He stumbles and then stands, regaining balance with the help of the people who had so impatiently pulled at him in the first place. He brushes off imaginary dust - even under the table it had been ridiculously immaculate and devoid of cobwebs - and pins the culprits with one of his trademark glares. He ignores the satisfaction that rises as they shift uneasily beneath it. Good. Serves them right.

But serves them right for what? How much of his situation are they responsible for? Surely kids like these wouldn't be up to kidnapping adults from their beds with the aid of hellbeasts. Or maybe they were. Shiro never can tell with teenagers.

"Um," pipes up one, gangly and gold skinned, and Shiro's recognises the voice. It's the one that was laughing only seconds ago, the one that was being continuously shushed down the hall. But something else clicks at the back of his mind. He's heard it before, recently, but he can't place where. "Hey, so you were pretty freaked out last night, and you passed out a lot. How you feeling this morning dude?” What? Oh, God, it _was_ them. What the _fuck_. Shiro ups the hostility of his glare, making the teen shrink in on himself in an attempt to escape it. “Oh, you know,” his says, voice dripping with sarcasm and thinly veiled fury “I'm _great_. I just _love_ being abducted by four creepy, faceless, hooded figures in the _middle of the night_ and taken to their stupidly comfy homes on the backs of _giant monsters_!” His voice rises towards the end, and he's thrown by the sudden “SHHHHH!” He receives in response, four sets of jazz hands in his face to emphasise it. At least they have the decency to look guilty as they do it.

The speaker pipes up again, tone clearly uncomfortable. “I am sorry about that, man. But we totally had good reasons for it, and we'll definitely explain it all right now!” The others nod, hasty and aggressive in their agreement, and Shiro still feels angry and confused and he just wants to _go home_ , but the look on their faces manages to wrangle it into something calmer and more forgiving. He always has been a soft touch. He sighs. “Okay. But at least tell me who you all are, first.”

“ _What_?! How do you not remember our names?” He exclaims, wearing an expression of childish indignation. The shorter one - the purple one - scoffs, and hits his arm in an affectionate manner. “Duh, Lance, we abducted him wearing druid robes. I seriously doubt he remembers which one of us is which.” “Uh, yeah, and what was with the robes, Lance?” The tallest asks. “The druids were so mad this morning, I thought they were going to dropkick me into the Quintscape." Lance - and now Shiro's remembers him, the placement of his name fitting his fragmented memories together - flushes high in his cheeks. “Earth atmosphere is freezing, and the oxygen runs out really quickly! The druids cloaks are enchanted to adapt to alien environments, so it was a logical choice!” The purple one mutters something under his breath that's unintelligible to Shiro's, but receives a “Hey!” and a shove from Lance. Shiro clears his throat before the two can properly begin fighting. “I still don't know your names.”

The speaker huffs and opens his mouth, but is immediately cut of by purple boy. “I'm Keith. This is Hunk” - the largest one - “Pidge” - the shortest one - “and Lance.” - the talkative boy. Said boy begins to protest being cut off by Keith, when the same things happens again. “You talk too much Lance. He just wants our names; you would have given him our entire life stories.” Before anymore can be said on the matter, something explodes from the end of the hallway.

“Lance McClain! Just _where_ do you think you are going?!” A voice booms. Lance freezes, face falling rapidly into an expression of pure terror as a choked whisper of “Oh, _fuck_!” escapes him. And then, in a flash of gold fire, the one most attractive people Shiro has ever laid eyes on is standing in front of them, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, glare fixed firmly on the lanky teen.

Gorgeous. Eleven out of ten. Caramel skin and honey hair and chocolate eyes behind large, circular glasses. Shiro is suddenly, _horribly_ aware of how messy and tired he looked when he saw his reflection in the mirror, with smudged eyeliner and the worst case of bed head he's had since he was 16. He thinks hard about becoming invisible. Maybe - _just_ _maybe_ \- it will work this time.

It doesn't.

The glare slips from Lance straight up to the unfamiliar Asian guy he's talking to, and if it's possible, his eyes narrow even further. He placed a subtle hand on Lance's arm, not sure whether to protect him from the unknown or accuse him of bringing Shiro here. Shiro flounders under his eyes, unsure of protocol in this situation: grovel or swoon.

“And just _who_ do you think you are?” His voice is practically a growl, but is commanding of attention and respect. The voice of authority. Shiro's short-circuiting. “Uhhh, S-Shiro.” He curses himself silently for the stutter. _Fuck,_  he's always been a mess around pretty boys. The glare doesn't let up. “Well, S-Shiro, what are you doing in the Castle of Lions?” Oh God, he can't take much more of this.

He is saved, however, as no sooner has the question slipped his mouth, the man's eyes are suddenly widening. “Oh no.” He whispers. “Oh no no no. Lance!” He wheels on the teen again. “Tell me you fucking didn't.” Lance plays dumb, blinking up at him innocently as if to say _I know not what you speak of_. “ _God_ , you fucking _did_ _didn't you_!” He laughs hysterically, and reaches up a hand to card his fingers through his hair, pulling slightly at the roots. “I told you not to go to Earth. Did I or did I not _specifically instruct you not to go to Earth?!_ ” And now Lance is talking, babbling, desperately trying to get a word in over the man's rant. “Adam - Adam, it's okay, I - !”

“It most certainly is _not okay!_ ”

And then he's back in control, refined, glaring. “All of you to the throne room. _Now!_ ” And he's pivoting on his heel, cloak billowing and twisting around him, and he's gone. Shiro is staring down an empty hall.

Lance groans and sinks to the ground, knees drawing up and head dropping into his hands. “Ugh, he's going to fucking _kill_ me! He's going abandon me in the Quintscape and use me as fuel.” He whines through his fingers. The purple one - Keith, Shiro thinks - crouches besides him and loops an arm around his shoulders. “Probably.” Lance lets out a sharp noise of offense, looking up to flower at him. “What kind of shitty boyfriend are _you?!_ ” He snaps, pouting, making the rest of his little group scoff and grin in amusement. Keith smiles fondly at him, and pulls lightly at his arms as he stands back up. “Seriously though Lance, come on or he will.” Lance allows himself to be pulled back to his feet, and with a deep sigh, begins walking down the corridor, Keith's arm still around him but on his waist now. “Let's go then.” He shoots a smile over his shoulder at Shiro. “I promise this will clear everything up for you.”

Hunk sets off at a respectable distance behind the couple, and Pidge comes to stand besides Shiro. “We really should go after them. If you thought Adam was scary then, you don't want to see him when he's properly angry.” Shiro looks down at the teen. Observing closely, Shiro can make out glowing green markings at the corners of their eyes, but decides not to ask. One weird thing at a time.

“Adam?” Shiro tries to keep his voice even and nonchalant. He must fail, because now Pidge is grinning up at him knowingly. However, the fates are kind for this moment, because they answer his question rather than teasing him. “Adam McClain, Lance's cousin. He's the High Warlock of Altea.” The shock and confusion must register on his face, because Pidge barely suppresses a laugh. “I guess you don't have magic on Earth?” And nope, nope, nope, Shiro is not unpacking _that_ right now.  
  
Instead, he asks how they knew he was under the table. “I saw your feet going under. You're really tall.” Deadpans his short companion. Shiro feels heat rise to his face in embarrassment. “Ah.” They snort, a bump their shoulder against his own (or, rather, against his elbow), an oddly familiar gesture for someone he's never met before. “Come on, chosen one.” Pidge grins. “Let's get you to the throne room.”

Shiro nods his head absentmindedly, and before what they said can properly register in his mind, Pidge is off. Then it hits him.

“Wait, _what_?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First look at Adam, and yes, I gave him new frames, because you can't be a high warlock without Harry Potter glasses.
> 
> I know the characters seem a bit stiff and awkward at the moment, but I'm still getting used to writing them (especially Adam, since the show didn't develop his character at all so I have to make it up from scratch), but hopefully it'll be better in the next chapter. The dialogue doesn't flow as nicely as I want it to, but same as above applies. Fingers crossed, the more I write it, the better it'll get.
> 
> Again, please leave a comment, and thanks to the people who already have. I love to know what you're thinking!  
> Thanks much xx


	3. Two: Concerning a Clairvoyant and a Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro meets the Queen, a clairvoyant and a royal advisor. Not much is explained despite Lance’s promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh, thankyou all so much for the kudos and comments!!

The throne room is huge. It must be half a mile long, and the roof hangs 50 metres above it. A red carpet runs down the middle from one end to the other, and up a case of ten marble steps that lead to a platform holding several guilt thrones. The walls and floors are crafted out of a polished stone the colour of honey, and the domed roof and crisscrossing beams are made of mahogany. Stained glass windows let in a kaleidoscope of multicoloured light. Shiro can't quite wrap his head around how one room can be so big, but he isn't left to dwell on it too long.

The group is met by the steps that lead up to the thrones by Adam, who is still glaring. But before he can get a word of reproach out, a fanfare starts up. Double doors on the left side of the platform are thrown inwards, and in storms a scowling woman with inky skin and silver hair. Her eyes are white, without pupil or iris, and small ivory triangles shine at the corner of them. Constellations move across her skin. On her head rests a circlet of gold, and she is clothed in a dress of silver and zaffre. Everything about her glows faintly, as if she is a light source like the sun or stars. She is ethereal, almost frightening in her beauty, and this godlike appereance is only enhanced by her cold fury. Everyone drops to their knees, heads bowed.

The Queen stalks across the dais, and once seated, motions for them all to rise. She observes them with a sense of righteous anger, and her eyes fix on Lance. “Paladin McClain.” Her voice is clear, and cuts through the room like a gunshot. Lance gulps visibly, and raises his head. “Q-Queen Allura, I-”

“Be quite.” Lance is quite. “Did I or did I not specifically instruct you to avoid Earth?” She questions. Lance nods hurriedly. “Did or I did I not command you to stay within the Castle's boundaries?” Again, a nod. “And did I or did I not tell you three times to forget the prophecy completely?” The Queen's voice remains frighteningly level throughout the questioning, and it is far more terrifying to Shiro than if she had yelled the whole thing. She continues once Lance is in agreement. “And why then, pray tell, did I find the paladins chambers empty and the griffins gone?” Lance's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Allura shakes her head in disappointment. “I thought as much. I expected better from you, Paladin.” Lance hangs his head for a moment; but then he jerks it back up, and finds his voice. “But my Lady, I have bought you the chosen one!” Allura’s glare, which had diminished somewhat at the boy's apparent shame, intensifies once more. “Oh have you now?” She turns to a tall gentleman with a prominent ginger moustache. “Bring in the Clairvoyant.”

At that moment, a woman steps out through the double doors. She has blonde hair so long that, although it is tied up, it falls to her thighs. Her skin is the palest of the people Shiro has so far encountered within the castle, but her irises are the second to hold the colour purple. Like the Queen - and in fact all the people in the room bar Keith, Shiro realises - there are triangular markings at the corner of her eyes. Blue. She wears a simple tunic and leggings, pink and white, with a thick navy belt around the waist. "I am already here, my Queen." She smiles. "I anticipated that you might ask for me."

For the first time since she appeared, Allura's face relaxes, scowl dropping and a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Mistress Clairvoyant." She greets, inclining her head slightly, and taking that opportunity to rearrange her features back into their previous frown. "Paladin McClain claims to have bought back the chosen one. I would like you to explain why this is impossible." At that, Lances lets of a noise of protest. "But Queen Allura, this _is_ the chosen one!" Allura whips round and pins Lance with cold fury. "Quiet, Paladin! You have caused enough trouble already." The boy looks hurt for a moment - truly, truly hurt - but then the emotion is gone, and Shiro is having trouble believing it was there at all. The Clairvoyant holds up a hand, and Allura closes her mouth. Shiro is in awe of the woman's ability to calm the tempest of a Queen, and in shock that the monarch listens. He feels a certain admiration for her, and maybe if he weren't so gay, he would have as much trouble controlling his heart around her as he has been having every moment that the High Warlock has been in his presence.

"Lance," the woman's voice is soft. "This is not the chosen one." Lance's face scrunches up in disbelief,and Shiro is sure that had it been anyone but this Clairvoyant he would already be protesting the statement. "He is not the chosen one. Not just because he is the wrong person in the first place," - her expression takes on amusement - "I told you apartment 16D not 16E," Lance flushes, scowling - "but because the chosen one died in a car accident just hours after you left."

There's a collective intake of breath from all four teens, but none look as distraught as the boy in blue. Lance looks like his whole world has been torn apart, and Shiro feels a sense of faliure that he was not what he was expected to be. He immediately pushes this down, berating himself for these thoughts. It was not his fault that he was mistakenly abducted. Hell, he still doesn't know what anyone's going on about! Queens and paladins, clairvoyants and high warlocks, chosen ones and prophecies. What the fuck is all this?

Allura’s face softens. "I'm sorry Lance." It's the first time she's assessed him by his name, and her accent drags on the 'a'. The boy doesn't seem to hear her, expression frozen. Keith reaches out and takes his hand, moving his thumb in circles over his tanned skin, and Lance turns his body inwards, pressing his face into his boyfriend's neck.

The Queen turns to Shiro for the first time since their audience with her began. "I apologise, Mr - sorry, what is your name?" Shiro gives it to her and definitely does not stutter _at all_. "Mr Shirogane. My sincerest apologies for the trouble you have been caused. As soon as the paladins have been brought up to speed on our current situation, I will have them return you to your homeworld." And before another word can be said, the Queen is rising from her throne and striding out the door, the Clairvoyant following behind her.

Once she has gone, the other two teens swarm Lance, huddling around the couple and speaking in hushed tones of comfort.

"It was his life goal." The sudden voice behind Shiro makes him jump slightly, and he turns his head. Adam steps into his peripheral vision, kickstarting his heart into double time. The warlock comes to stand beside him. "Aside from becoming a paladin, obviously." "Obviously." echoes Shiro, making Adam's lips twitch slightly, as if repressing a laugh at his obvious enrapture.

"Romelle made that prediction when we were children. It was her first one, and she went into a coma for two weeks straight after." He smiles bitterly. "The offworlder who would save Altea and the coalition. Lance built his life on the prophecy, obsessed over it. He was convinced that he would eventually bring home the chosen one. I admit I worried about him sometimes, his obsession, but I did nothing about it. I ignored it mostly, and when our family-" he cuts himself off suddenly, then clears his throat and continues. "When he became a paladin, I encouraged it. I thought it was good for him to have a goal." He shakes his head.

Shiro stands by in silence. He wants to do something, comfort Adam, but he doesn't know how. He barely even knows Adam; and is honestly a little confused as to why the warlock would want to tell a stranger like him all of this. Especially when he was only here by mistake.

Adam seems to pick up on this, suddenly aware of what he's saying and who to. He offers one last small smile, then raises his voice to address the others. "Paladins." They turn, ceasing in chatter and giving the warlocks their full attention. "The Queen wishes for you to join her so that she may update you." He inclines his head at Shiro, in a similar fashion to the way Allura had acknowledged Romelle. Then he's gone, a flash fire that takes the paladins with him and leaves Shiro alone in the throne room.

"Mr Shirogane, if you would be so kind as to follow me back to the guest chambers. " Or, he assumed he had been left alone. The man with the vibrant hair and moustache is still there. He nods, eyes still fixated on the place Adam had been standing only seconds prior. Then he shakes of his stupor and follows the man out of the throne room.

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro is pacing, nervous, his thoughts a whirlwind.

It's been hours since Coran - the royal advisor to the Queen - had left him. At first, it had been a bit of a relief; Coran talked endlessly, and Shiro hadn't had a moment of peace to think over and react to all the information that had been thrown at him during the Queen's audience. Now, with all the silence, there's nothing to distract him from the truth of his situation, and it's crushing him.

He's tried escaping his room, desperate to do anything except sit and think, but the door has been locked from the outside. The light through the curtains has slowly dimmed indicating the oncoming night, but it's not until it's faded altogether that anything more happens.

Thin moonlight streams in, and he can hear Lance’s loud tones even through the thick walls. The door practically bursts inwards, and the four paladins are standing there, decked out in some form of armour. The triangles at the corners of their eyes glow in the shadows, blue and gold and green, and Keith is talking. 

"We're taking you back now." He says. "Interdimensional portal travel only works at night." Is offered by way of explanation for his day long quarantine. Shiro doesn't care. He just has to get out of this room.

He's lead through endless amounts of winding corridors and high-ceiling rooms, twisting and turning amongst infinite wealth. Eventually, they're stood in a courtyard bigger than his neighbourhood with three people dressed in the same dark robes the paladins had been wearing when they had taken him -  _God had it only been yesterday?_

He shivers at the sight of them.

"The Queen is on her way." Comes a deep voice from behind him, and Shiro shivers again for a completely different reason. He turns around to see Adam, who had arrived silently rather than in his usual dramatic flash-fire. And less than a minute later she arrives, accompanied by Coran and Romelle. But she looks  _drastically_ different to this morning.

Her skin is sky blue, her eyes and markings solid gold. Her hair is white, and clouds drift across her body. The circlet resting upon her forehead is silver, and her dress is ochre and russet. She smiles at him, clearly finding the confusion in his face amusing. 

"Once again, I am terribly sorry for all the trouble we have caused you Mr Shirogane." She says, voice light as both of her hands clasp around one of his. "I wish you all the best for the remainder of your life " Then she's stepping back, switching places with Romelle. The clairvoyant smiles at him, and guides him into the centre of a circle with a 10 foot diameter drawn in the gravel of the courtyard.

"Soon, this will all be nothing but a dream."

No sooner have the words exited her mouth, a thundering roar echoes over the castle. The palace dwellers, who had bustling and buzzing, fall deathly silent and still. Romelle, in front of him on the other side of the circle line, goes slack, eyes widening in shock. 

Then a sound like a thousand eagles all beating their wings in perfect harmony rattles the air. A buffering wind, twin tornadoes, and then landing with a force that shakes the very Earth is the biggest creature Shiro has ever seen.

"Well," whispers Romelle. "This certainly changes things."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this really late, so sorry if the ending feels a bit rushed, but I was really excited to get it out!  
> Thoughts, constructive criticisms and help are greatly appreciated   
> Thanks much xx


	4. Three: Concerning Griffins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro has an encounter with a giant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay betwen this chapter and the last one, but as some of you may know, an angsty idea from last week refused to let me write anything until it was finished :/ (also me and my girlfriend then broke up; karma or what?)

It's a miracle that Shiro doesn't faint on the spot.

In front of him is a mountain of an animal. It's at least as tall as the throne room had been, with sleek black fur and a thick mane. It's huge eyes are luminous, gold searchlights in the darkness, and are fixed on Shiro, making the creature almost go cross eyed in an attempt to keep him in view. It shakes giant wings out awkwardly - they can't fit in the courtyard at their full length - and tucks them against it's body.

The creature resembles a lion in the way a shark resembles a goldfish. It's gargantuan, terrifying and incomprehensible. A creature straight out of the darkest nightmares.

A deep rumble echoes through the courtyard. The behemoth lowers it's head, and Shiro stumbles backwards in fear. His plan to run away is foiled when he finds that he cannot move past the circle line; it's created a barrier that he can't see or move through.

On the other side, there is a sudden flurry of action. The druids have their arms in the air, hands glowing purple, and more of them are spilling out through the doors. The paladins are running, away from the creature towards an archway at the other end of the courtyard. The Queen is being herded by Coran back into the castle. Romelle turns to Adam, mouth moving and gesturing frantically, but Shiro can't hear what they're saying over the warning snarls of the beast and the shouts of the druids.

Then the warlock is stepping forward, arms raised and palms facing the creature, gold fire flickering between his fingers. He's walking, slow and non-threatening and seemingly calm. The druids are still encased in sparks of purple and chanting relentlessly, but the snarls are dying down. Shiro sees Adam look back, their eye's meeting briefly. The warlock's curious and confused, but then the beating of his own heart is all he can focus on, blood rushing in his ears and vision going black, all thoughts of Adam driven from his mind. He feels himself fall, but he never hits the ground.

 

* * *

 

By this point, Shiro is getting used to waking up in unfamiliar places.

This time it's not in the white room, but in a low-celeinged candle lit space. The walls are made of a dark stone, and are lined with wooden shelves that are framed with worn books, boxes and mason jars. Potted plants cover an entire table, and Shiro is next to a sink bigger than the low slung cot he's lying on. There's a pewter bowl full of a thick green paste sitting on the floor by Shiro's head. A heavy scent of mixed spices blankets the air.

About five feet to his left is a wooden chair facing away from him. A man - Adam? - is leafing through one of the ancient books, that looks on the verge of falling to pieces. He's muttering to himself under his breath, incomprehensible words, and threads of burning gold magic twist and twine together in the air over the warlock's head.

Shiro's throat is dry, and he coughs on a reflex. Immediately Adam's chanting stops, the magic dissipating, and he twists his head to look at the man attempting ~~and failing~~ to prop himself up.

"Finally awake?" He asks, tired smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He swings his legs round, straddling the chair so he can look at Shiro without giving himself neck cramps. Shiro's throat gets impossibly drier. Still, he manages to croak out a single sentence: "What the _fuck_ was that?"

Adam's smile grows, eyes creasing slightly at the corners. He gets up, grabbing a glass from seemingly thin air and filling it up in the sink. While he does this, he answers, voice soft and weary. "The Black Griffin." He moves to kneel by his head, helping to prop him up against the wall.

He presses the back of his hand against Shiro's forehead, then mixes some of the green paste into the water with a spoon (again, pulled out of nowhere). Finally, he passes the glass to the him, and Shiro drains it in seconds, despite the bitter leaf flavour. 

He gasps for air, then turns his face towards the warlock. "That means nothing to me." Adam laughs, and it's enchanting. "I didn't think it would." He stands, spinning the chair around and taking a seat. "I'll try and explain as best I can, but I've never met someone who doesn't have even the vaguest understanding of Voltron."

Vol-what?

His confusion is apparently evident. 

"Voltron is an elite Altean task force composed of five Paladins and five Griffins. Currently Keith, Lance, Hunk and Pidge are the red, blue, yellow and green Paladins respectively. Their quintessence has fused with their Griffins to make them the strongest warriors of this world."

Shiro interrupts him here. "Quintessence? That's not something I've ever heard of before." Adam takes a moment, clearly unsure of how to explain this to someone from another world. "Uhhh... your reality is aware of the concept of life force, or souls?" Shiro nods.

"Okay, so on a basic level, Quintessence is soul energy. It's naturally generated by all living things; it's what gives us life. I mean, that's a really simple and watered down version, but Quintessence is very convoluted, so-" Adam looks to him to see if the explanation is one that an offworlder can understand. And it's not anything wildly abstract or foreign, so even in his tired state, Shiro has no problem understanding what the warlock is trying to explain. He smiles at the man. "I get it. You can carry on explaining your Voltorb, or whatever it was."

Adam gives him a withering glance. "Voltron. Anyway, it was formed during times of worldly unrest 10,000 years ago by one of Allura’s ancestors: King Alfor the first. They were the last line of defence, the ultimate protectors of the people. 3,000 years ago, Altea and many neighbouring countries formed an alliance: the Voltron Coalition. Now they are seen as a shared force between the countries of the coalition."

Shiro nods absentmindedly, taking his time to sort through the new information. "You said it was formed 10,000 years ago, yeah?" Adam nods. "But the Paladins don't look nearly old enough..." The warlocks bursts into laughter at that. "Oh no, they haven't been around that long! The Griffins are immortal, and Paladins generally have a longer lifespan than the average being, but they definitely can't live for millennia."

"Paladin of Voltron is a title that is passed down between people who have been chosen by the Griffins. Their lifespan is extended, usually by a few hundred years because of their bond, but many of them die in battle. The original Paladins died eons ago."

Shiro feels his face heat up, slightly embarrassed by his question, but he doesn't let it deter him. There's still more he needs to ask. "Well, what about the current Paladins?" Adam frowns slightly. "What about them?" Shiro gestures wildly, almost smacking the warlock in the face. "Y'know, how did they become Paladins and stuff?"

Adam gently takes hold of Shiro's flailing hand, lying it back down on the bed. He can feel his heart falter at the touch, and prays that his gay isn't showing. 

"Well, to cut a long story short, about ten years ago the red and black Paladins died in a battle. The other three didn't want to continue on without them, so they resigned, which is something that is technically allowed but had never been done before then. The Griffins were flown all over the Coalition to find the next Paladins. Three were found pretty quickly: Lance, Hunk and Pidge. Lance and I were already living in the castle, so he and Blue bonded almost instantly. Hunk was just coming back from visiting his family in Balmera; his mom is half Balmeran. Pidge lived on the border of Olkari, so those two were found within a couple of days of each other."

"Y'know," he says, taking of his glasses to clean them. "It's the highest number of Paladins from one race since Voltron became a shared force. Anyway, the fourth paladins took a lot longer to find. Two years after the first three began training, a Galran boy was found attempting to steal from the castle kitchens. If Red hadn't come to his aid when she did-" Adam cuts off abruptly and clears his throat. It reminds Shiro of when he had first opened up in the throne room. His curiosity piques slightly, and he wants to know how that sentence would have ended. But he can feel that it's not Adam's place to share, so he doesn't push. "Anyway, that's how they became the Paladins."

There's still a lot of confused thoughts swirling around Shiro's head. A lot of new terminology and information has been thrown at him in the last half an hour: Paladins, Griffins, Quintessence, Balmera, Olkari, Galran- endless amounts of questions run through his mind. But he is getting tired. The last two days have been relentless. There's just one more thing he needs to ask.

"You said that the Griffins choose their Paladins, correct?" Adam nods. "And you mentioned that there are five members of Voltron?" Again a nod. Shiro takes a deep breath. He's afraid of this next question: he thinks he already knows it's answer. But he has to ask. "There are only four current members of Voltron..." he can see in Adam's eyes that he knows exactly what Shiro is asking. 

"The Black Griffin never bonded with anyone. It became hostile and unpredictable without a Paladin to keep it stable, and eventually I had to put it into stasis. When it appeared earlier... The reason everyone was so panicked was because it should have been impossible for the Griffin to wake up from it. But if did. And it came straight to you." Adam stops, and looks away. Shiro feels his stomach drop. He knows what's coming next, but he doesn't know if he can stand to hear Adam say it.

"The only way that could happen... is if it was going to it's Paladin." Adam looks up and meets his eyes.

"Takashi Shirogane... You have been chosen as the final Paladin of Voltron."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short, very rushed filler chapter. This was mostly just me trying to explain how Voltron works in this fantasy setting, but it might not have made a lot of sense. If this is the case, please ask me anything in the comments.  
> Again, really sorry for the delay! Thankyou all for reading, and as always, kudos and comments are appreciated!  
> Thanks much xx


	5. Four: Concerning Training Grounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro finally ventures outside the castle walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the big delay! I just started at college, and I have had some problems settling in, and needed this term to get my life in order. But hopefully things should get up and running again now. Thank you to all the people who have given kudos, and left comments xx

Adam refuses to answer anymore questions after this revelation, insisting that Shiro needs to rest.

He ignores the complaints, and at a certain point gets impatient. His glare is enough to shut Shiro up; like when he first encountered him, it's downright _terrifying_. So Shiro lies down, eyes closed but mind active. He knows that there's way to many uncertainties for him to relax, and the chances that he actually gets any sleep are slim, practically non-existent.

In the background, he can hear Adam, sitting back in the wooden chair and whispering chants to himself. Every so often he gets up, moving quietly across the flagstones to collect something from a table or shelf. Shiro can hear his magic too, humming softly as it twists and writhes in the air, casting a golden glow about the room. It lights up the back of his eyelids, comforting and warm. It's nice. White noise. But try as he might, he can't focus fully on it.

The stump of his arm is feeling particularly irritated right now, a common occurrence whenever Shiro gets overly worked up about something. It really doesn't help that he's been without his prosthetic for about 2 days now, a feat he would never have attempted in a normal situation. The longer he goes without it, the stronger (and more painful) his phantom limb syndrome gets. The fact that his medication is still in his bathroom cupboard is something he tries not to dwell on.

And now he's started thinking about it, the itch is getting more unbearable. It succeeds in pushing out the questions left by Adam, but in a way this is worse. Shiro can feel the pain, tight sharp bursts up and down phantom neurons, and desperately tries to clamp down on the non-existent limb with his existent hand. His body spasms slightly, twitchy and fitful, and the pain is growing, growing, _growing_ -

He feels something touch his arm, cool and soothing. The pain dulls, his body relaxing as he feels the tension dissipate. He sighs, uncurling from the ball he'd pulled himself into around his arm and rolling onto his back. Slowly, his eyes slit open, and his vision is filled with gold and brown. It's Adam, kneeling beside him, light radiating off him like he's the sun. His eyes are closed, expression calm, and Shiro can feel drowsiness wash over him in place of pain.

The light is fading, the warlocks eyes opening. He smiles, tired, and for the first time since he got here, Shiro falls peacefully into sleep.

 

* * *

 

When Shiro wakes, he is exactly where he fell asleep; another first.

Adam is no longer there, and Shiro guesses the room is underground because the lighting looks no different to before he slept. Slowly he pushes himself up off the cot, and stretches, feeling like his whole skeleton is realigning as he does so. He walks around the room, inspecting the shelves and tables and all the things they hold.

Not long after he wakes up, there's a knock at the door, and it swings inwards to reveal Keith. The red Paladin lingers uneasily at the entrance, seeming uncertain of himself.

“Um, hi?” He mumbles, mouth twisting and nose scrunching at the awkwardness of the sentence. “Uh, sorry, I uh-” he cuts off, and groans. His ears flick like an irritated cat. “I- Stars _above_ , I’m shit at this.” Shiro fails to repress a snort at the dramaticness of the teen, who scowls at the sound.

Shiro gestures to the chair where Adam had been the night before with a slight grin. “I’m not going to bite. You can take a seat.” Keith gives him a withering look, but doesn’t shoot the offer down. He straightens his posture, walking further into the room, and Shiro takes it as a win. “Usually Lance is the one to come and talk to strangers, but he’s already at the training grounds so the responsibility has fallen to me.” He grits his teeth at the last few words, clearly unhappy with the predicament, but then takes a deep breath and continues. 

“Look, I know a lot of big things have been sprung on you all at once, and I know it's probably a lot to take in. I also know that becoming a Paladin is a huge decision, even for those who are native to this universe, so I'm not going to pretend you're even close to considering fully bonding with Black. But I think it would be… I think it would help you understand what it means to be a Paladin a little better if you came to the training grounds with us today.”

He pauses after that fidgeting awkwardly with the sleeve of his under armour. Shiro pauses to process the full extent of what Keith is asking him, and opens his mouth to respond, when he's cut off.

“Black won't be there.” He blurts, words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush to speak before Shiro can give a final answer. “If… if that's what you're worried about, he won't be there. Adam had to put him back to sleep. Until we can be certain about you, we can't risk having him awake.”

Shiro looks at Keith. _Really_ looks at him. The boy is currently staring straight at him, jaw locked and body tense, clearly uncomfortable. His hands are behind his back, but Shiro can hear him messing with something, perhaps picking at loose threads in his uniform. His eyes jump slightly, darting away from Shiro's own and then back again just as quickly. Nervous ticks.

It's bizarre. Shiro hasn't known the boy long, little over a day really, but the strong and proud front he puts up is nowhere in sight at the minute, and Shiro is suddenly suddenly, wholly aware that that's exactly what Keith is: a boy. A child turned warrior, desperately trying to be a leader in place of the absent Black Paladin.

To be perfectly honest, Shiro isn't jumping at the opportunity to see the Griffins again. He isn't keen to spend hours in a fear-induced adrenaline-fuelled state that has him going into cardiac arrest any time one of the beasts even breath to close to him. But he can see how much this would mean to Keith. And while he doesn't want to give him and the other Paladins any false hope, he reckons he can cut the kid some slack. Just for today.

 

* * *

 

The so-called ‘training grounds’ Keith mentioned are in fact just a giant plain, stretching about two miles from the bottom of the palace mountain to a forest at the edge of Shiro’s vision. About a quarter of a mile away he can see the four Griffins, but can’t see their Paladins. Fear grips Shiro at the sight of the giant felines, but Keith had promised that he would be perfectly safe. As a potential Paladin himself, no Griffin of Voltron would ever harm him. Still, even with this reassurance, he can’t help the adrenaline that begins to kick in, making his heart beat faster and his hand tremor with nerves.

Despite having only ever seen the other Griffins once before, at midnight for a split second, it’s easy to discern which is which. Green is the smallest, reflective of her Paladin, although that’s probably a coincidence. Her juniper wings are tucked against her side, and her fur glitters like chain mail in the sunlight. Shiro’s never been much of a geologist but his grandmother was, and the yellow of her pelt has a greenish tinge that reminds him of peridot. Her fur is thick but relatively short, and he can’t see her eyes, but already knows in the back of his mind that if she turned her head towards him they would hold the depth and colour of nephrite.

The next Griffin, by size order, is Red. She isn’t much different from Green in length, probably just a little under 50 feet, but in terms of height she has a slight advantage. Her wings are maroon, and her shaggy fur is russet red. It holds a polished shine rather than the glinting and glittering of Green’s. Her mouth hangs open slightly, her tongue lolling and her teeth exposed. Shiro isn’t sure if it’s fair to call them teeth; each one must be at least the size of him, sharp and thick and perfect for taking down prey many times bigger than himself. Her eyes are the same pale shade of the yellow apatite samples that rested on his grandma’s windowsill. They stare right through him, momentarily pinning him in place, and as soon as he can shake himself out of the slight trance, he moves on to the next Griffin.

Yellow is much bulkier than the rest, and a good ten feet taller than Red and Green. She ripples with barely contained strength, her muscles straining against the thin, short coat of fur covering her body. Her pelt is a pale gold for the most part, but unlike the other Griffins, she’s also covered in tawny markings that vaguely resemble the patterns he’d seen on a clouded leopard in the zoo once. She’s the only Griffin lying down, her head rested on her giant paws, her long tail flicking side to side in a bizarrely kittenish manner for a creature of such size and grandeur. Her wings stretch out on either side of her, blending in with the dust and sun scorched grass of the plain. Her eyes are slitted, barely open, but are an unmistakable hematite grey.

The final Griffin on the plain is Blue. She’s just shorter than Yellow, but longer, lithe and lean, maybe 60 feet not including her tail. Her fur is probably the most befitting of her name: london blue topaz, shot through with strands of white. It’s thick and longer than the the coats of all but Red, and she’s cleaning it vigorously. Her eyes are fixated on the paw she’s currently licking, mismatched and beautiful and reminiscent of tigers eye and aquamarine. She ruffles her wings, inky feathers shaking and settling, shaking and settling. 

Black is the only one not in attendance, which was something that Shiro already knew before coming down from the palace, but he can’t help but feel a slight sense of… disappointment? Like something doesn’t sit quite right in his chest without Black there. But surely not. Although he’s agreed to observe the Paladins in training, he’s still to make up his mind about what to do with his new predicament. Everything’s been moving so fast, he can hardly believe it was only two days ago that he was completely unaware of this whole other world, of it’s castles and queens, it’s armoured warriors and fantastic beasts, it’s magic and magicians. He’s in no position to be making life altering decisions right now.

As he and Keith come to a stop at the edge of the plain, the Griffins all look over in unison. Something tugs just below his ribcage as four sets of slitted eyes bore into him, searching. Then they blink, cutting through the tentative connection like a hot knife through snow. Yellow rises to her feet, and the four behemoths make their way over to the border. With their every step spanning meters, it barely takes them half a minute to reach them at their leisurely pace. It’s as they come to a stop the Shiro notices the three Paladins, each clinging to a paw of their respective Griffin in an almost comical fashion.

Lance is the first to detach, quick to move to his boyfriend's side, hand reaching out to take Keith's. The red Paladin visibly relaxes at the other’s touch, letting out a small sigh of contentment. Hunk and Pidge let go of their Griffins, but make no move to come any closer.

The blue Paladin grins at Shiro over the top of Keith's head. "You ready for training?" Shiro feels unease begin to grow in his chest at the mischevious edge to Lance's smile. "I thought I was just watching." He says slowly, cautiously. 

Lance snickers, an undignified noise that ends in a yelp as a scowling Keith elbows him in the ribs. Undeterred, the mouthy teenager pipes up again. 

"Afraid not, Earth-boy. You're coming _flying_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously big thanks to all of you for being so patient. I probably won't be able to post as regularly as I could back in the summer, but hopefully things will become more settled with my college and I'll work out a regular schedule  
> As always, kudos and comments are much appreciated  
> Thanks much xx
> 
> P.s. I literally just made a tumblr specifically for this account so if you want to say hi, feel free to drop on by https://www.tumblr.com/blog/b-g--tt-wr-t-s


	6. 5: Concerning Red Paladins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro gets a history lesson
> 
> (Sorry in advance for the lack of Adam in this chapter, this is mostly broganes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be throwing a lot of lore at you in this one, so make sure you keep up!
> 
> Also yes, I have changed the fic title. I had always considered HPGNOT to be a placeholder until I came up with something more fitting, but because I have no self control, I published this before I thought of one. Then the other day I came up with this, so yeah. I changed it.
> 
> Anyway, enough with this  
> On with the story

Shiro must blackout between Lance revealing this information and getting on the Griffin, because the next thing he knows he's desperately trying to hold down the need to vomit as they tumble through the air. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his hand is so sweaty he can hardly keep his grip on the leather handle. In all honesty, it doesn't matter whether or not he holds on, because there are straps criss crossing all the way up and down both his legs, holding him fast to the beast. But although his hand is sore from the roughness of the unused leather, and is cramping from the attempt to hold on so tightly, he feels like the handhold is the only thing keeping him from slipping into full-blown panic mode.

He's so focused on keeping a grip of the saddle, that he doesn't notice when Red stops her rough assent, and levels out into a smooth glide. His eyes are squeezed shut, this whole mind focused on his hand and his breathing, and so when he feels fingers prodding lightly at the back of his wrist, he jumps like he's been electrocuted. His eyes snap open, met by the sight of Keith staring at him with raised eyebrows, and Shiro just  _knows_ that the Paladin is silently laughing at him. He pulls a face at the boy, and then looks away with a scowl when Keith's internal mockery threatens to become external.

He thought that with the constant beating of Red's wings, it would be impossible to see anything from his place on her back. But to his surprise, her wings rarely raise high enough to obscure his vision, instead giving small but frequent flaps, and while it is difficult to see below (not that he tries very hard - he's always been told that looking down is the easiest way to ensure height sickness), watching the Griffins flying along beside them is easy, and presents a great opportunity to distract his anxious mind.

Out to the right of Red, he can see Blue soaring carelessly through the clear sky. As he observes her majesty, she drop suddenly in height, plummeting back towards the hard ground below, and Shiro's heart screeches to a stop for a good second. But then she returns, rising quickly back to cruising altitude, her rider whooping wildly on her back and punching the air, and Shiro's heart kicks back into gear as he realises it was intentional. She was  _playing_. Now that he's watching, he quickly realises that this is a common pattern for the duo, to dive like a bird of prey, or fly randomly upwards to perform a roll or flip before dropping back down to join the others. Lance is cackling on Blue's back, delighted in the rollercoaster of a flight. After several minutes, he looks over and catches Shiro's eye, grinning wildly, and Shiro doesn't like the mischievous edge to the Paladin's gaze. He quickly turns his attention to the Griffin behind Blue.

Yellow is much more controlled in her travelling. There is no showing off, no acrobatics as she flys, but this lack of performance is impressive in itself. For a creature of such sheer size and muscle, Shiro would have doubted her ability to move in such a composed manner, let alone the effortless grace with which she is currently flying in. She looks stately, almost imposing, and carries an air of regality about her as she moves swiftly and steadily through the sky behind the erratic Blue. Occasionally, she swoops sideways, dropping behind the rest of the Griffins and then circling above and below them, as though checking that they are all still on course and unharmed, but these are the only other movements she makes.

Shiro almost expects Green, as the smallest of the Griffins, to be facing a problem keeping up with the rest of the Paladins, but he is proven wrong. In fact, the sporadic way in which she flies, the obviously forced slowness punctuated by sudden bursts of speed, only to then be reigned back in again before she overtakes Red, suggest that she is struggling only with holding herself back, when she could easily outstrip any of the other Griffins. Shiro is reminded suddenly that although she appears rather diminutive in comparison to the rest of them, he had forgotten that relative to him she was still a creature of unimaginable size and strength.

Shiro could have spent hours contemplating the flight patterns of the other Griffins, and observing the beauty with which they moved, but then he is brought sharply back by a sound in front of him. A voice, Keith's voice, trying to communicate with him. He hears the Galran speak, but cannot make out the words over the sound of the rushing air and the ceaseless beating of Red's wings. Shiro turns his head back to look at Keith, expression quizzical, and Keith rolls his eyes at him, before speaking louder, practically shouting over the noise.

 "How are you holding up?" He yells, and rather than strain his voice in an attempt to verbally respond, Shiro simply gives him a small nod, hoping that Keith understands. Judging by the grin he receives in return, he does. He thinks that's the end of the conversation, but is proven wrong when the red Paladin speaks up again. "Good, because Lance is getting restless and wants to show off- I mean, practice some of the formations we've been working on."

Shiro's stomach drops, his eyes widening in horror as he processes what Keith's saying, but it's too late. The Paladin's turned back around, and then Red goes suspiciously still. It's the last moment of peace Shiro gets, before he's subjected to what seems to be an unending sequence of fast flight, rolls and spins, drops and rises and all sorts of other nausea-inducing movement. He does his best to cling on to the Griffin, eyes squeezed shut, forcing himself to not throw up as he hears the shouts of the Paladins all around him.

Then, just when the dizziness starts to overtake him, a familiar calm settles into his veins. He's felt it once before, the night he went through the wormhole, the inexplicable sensation of his sickness and fear rushing out of him. In it's place, a rising joy bubbles through him, and he opens his eyes to watch the sky spin around him, and his companions laugh as they climb through the clouds. For the first time since he arrived in Altea, he can't feel a drop of anxiety.

Shiro would be lying if he said that he was getting used to the Griffins. But it also wouldn't be truthful of him to deny that a spark of excitement is starting to ignite in him. He's nowhere near ready to make up his mind about his predicament, but right now, soaring hundreds of meters above the world, he can't bring himself to worry. It's a problem for another day.

 

* * *

 

After what might be a few hours, the Griffins stop with the training exercises, and settle back into an easy glide. The sun has tipped over the midday point from morning into early afternoon, and Shiro can hear Keith talking up ahead.

Then the Paladin is standing up, turning around, and walking the few paces between his seat and Shiro's, before dropping down in front of him. Surprised by the sudden change, he decides to wait for Keith to speak first, to explain whatever it is that made him switch seats. It takes him a couple of minutes, but the rider gets there eventually.

"Earlier, when we started doing training- I'm sorry. I forgot what it's like- that people without Griffin bonds can get sick from turbulent flight like that." He takes a deep breath, and Shiro doesn't interrupt. "But when I remembered- well, you didn't throw up so I'm guessing you felt it. The Peace." He waits for Shiro to nod before continuing. "That was me. I can do that. It's a Galran ability, and I'm half Galran so- yeah." 

Shiro can't say this doesn't startle him, but after everything he's been through, it's really not that big. Also, he's fairly certain that the Peace thingy is blocking him from feeling any emotions that would shatter it. Keith doesn't seem surprised by his lack of outburst, futher confirming this point in his mind.

The Paladin leans back slightly, resting his hands on Red's back behind him. He smiles lightly, and carries on. "You can't imagine how weird it is to say out loud. That I'm half Galran. I mean, it's not exactly a secret. Anyone with eyes can see my relation to them. But still, it's such a taboo thing in Altea, to have any sort of connection to them. To say something like that outloud- I mean, it's different in the castle, to an extent, especially now that I'm a Paladin, but there's still that-" He breaks off again, struggling for the right word. Shiro can feel a growing sense of unease. He's not from this universe, and he knows nothing about the Galra, but he knows plenty about what Keith is explaining. It seems that prejudice is an inter-dimensional concept.

He reaches out a hand, and places in on Keith's. Shiro doesn't know the teen that well, but this seems right. He feels a brotherly sort of solidarity with the Paladin, a unity that only forms between the marginalised. For the first time since Keith came over, Shiro feels the need to speak up.

"Hey. I get it. Back in my universe, there was a lot people didn't like about me. I'm Asian. I'm disabled. I'm gay. I was expected to keep quiet about it, and even then it was barely tolerated. It's bullshit but it happens." Shiro's never been good with talking about this shit, but when Keith looks at him, the gratitude, the realisation that there's someone who can begin to understand - it's all that matters. So he keeps talking. He tells Keith about his struggles, the struggles of his people, hoping that Keith himself will find the words to express what he obviously wants to say.

It takes a while but Keith gets there.

"How much has Adam told you about Quintessence?" He asks, and Shiro has to think for a moment to remember what that is. "He gave me a basic description last night. It's like a life-force, right?" Keith grins slightly, as though amused by Shiro's meagre understanding. "Fundamentally, yeah. But it's also so much more than that. It's the building blocks of the whole Universe. Without it, nothing could exist." 

"There's also another plane of existence, the Quintscape, which exists in equilibrium with our Universe, and it holds an unlimited amount of energy. The highest level of natural born magic users - warlocks, like Adam - can perform ceremonies with the help of learned magic users - druids - to extract quintessence from it, by offering some of their own in exchange." He catches the look on Shiro's face, and hurriedly explains. "It doesn't hurt them, as living things regenerate quintessence after rest. It's just a show of good will to the Quintscape. Of course, there is a balance that must remain between our two realms. If too much quintessence is drawn, the balance is lost and our Universe is thrown into chaos, and the door to the Quintscape will shut for a millennia."

He breaks off, and looks at Shiro to see if he's keeping up with the crash course. Shiro smiles in reassurance, and Keith launches back into it.

"When the Griffin's were first formed, 10,000 years ago, the amount of energy it drew from the Quintscape threw our world into chaos. Nothing was stable, and the Quintscape had shut. The ground wouldn't stay still, the climate was all over the place - if it had carried on for too long, all life would have been wiped out. The Galran emperor at that time was desperate to solve the problem. He went to see the leaders of the Olkari, a race famed for their knowledge. But the answer they provided him with was unthinkable. They said the only way to restore balance, was mass genocide. That amount of death, the amount of quintessence that this world would lose - it would restore balance."

"The emperor went away, horrified, and refused to tell anyone of what the Olkari had said. The Galra were a peaceful race. But after ten more years of destruction, he was driven to the brink of insanity. Galra had become over run with illness of the mind, a bloodthirsty mania. He ordered his army to go out, and slaughter anyone they found. The Olkari agreed to help, since it was their solution in the first place, but they're were smart. They manipulated the plants into doing it for them, rather than sending out soldiers of their own. Eventually, it started working. Across the universe, other races started adopting the same idea, and the healing of the balance accelerated. Thousands has been killed, but peace was returning. The Olkari stopped killing. Everyone else stopped killing. But the Galrans were too caught up in their insanity. They couldn't see that the world was beginning to stabilise so they just kept going."

Keith's face is stony, but Shiro can feel the anger radiating off him. Red shifts agitatedly under him.

"Eventually they realised that it was over. That there was balance again. But it was too late. The rest of the universe knew what they had done, had seen the horror of their own actions, and now they were looking to pin the blame. The Galrans argued that they had done it to bring peace. They said that the Olkari had helped, that it was their idea. But everyone felt guilty. The majority of races had a part to play. Hell, the Galran's had one of the lowest kill rates - they had been pacifists before, and so their army wasn't exactly skilled. But they were the last to stop. The sole blame was placed on them." 

Shiro can't think of anything to say - he doesn't think there is anything to say. Keith's voice, which had been gradually getting louder over the course of his rant, drops to a quiet whisper, barely noticeable over the wind.

"They say that afterwards, the Galra found that if anyone in their immediate vicinity was agitated, they could calm them down just by thinking about it. That the Peace is the result of us restoring balance. Since the we're the only race do that, everyone takes it as a statement of guilt, that it proves we are solely to blame. No one else recognises their own hand in it." He looks up at Shiro, eyes imploring. "I'm not trying to excuse what happened. It was awful, what we did- but it wasn't just us. And now we're the only ones who suffer for it."

His voice breaks off. Shiro can't begin to imagine what Keith is feeling. Hell, even he himself feels conflicted over what he heard. They sit in silence, for what feels like forever. Then, eventually, Keith stands up. "The sun's going to start getting low soon. It's time to head back."

 

* * *

 

The sky is growing dark when the Paladins finally return to the castle grounds, laughing and shoving each other as they walk a few steps ahead of Shiro. He's purposely hung back, watching their dynamic with a sort of subdued contentedness. Despite knowing them for only a few days - on one of which they forcibly abducted him - he's starting to feel the beginnings of brotherly affection towards the rambunctious teens. 

He trails behind, exhausted in the best way after a full day of flight, when his stomach suddenly clenches; not from anxiety, but from hunger. It's been near enough three days since he last ate a proper meal of anything, and the delicious and surprisingly filling fruit littering the guest room he stayed in yesterday does not count. 

He's so distracted by the thought of food that he doesn't notice when someone drops back to walk alongside him, until a playful shove brings him out of his mind. He looks up from the ground, and realises that they're already back inside the castle. Keith is with him, one eyebrow raised. "You alright there, Earth-boy?" Shiro internally groans at the realisation that the dumb nickname Lance came up with earlier seems to have stuck.

"Yeah." He says, and at the same time his stomach decides to voice it's own opinion. Keith's face breaks into a shit eating grin eerily reminiscent of Lance's, and asks if he's sure. Shiro scowls in response.

"I guess you better come with us to the food hall then, if you think you can stand our company a little while longer." The Paladin muses, and Shiro can't help but falter a little. The stumble catches Keith's eye, and he stops, his smile growing impossibly wider. "Did you not think we had food around here? Did you think you were going to starve to death or something?" And then, when Shiro fails to answer, he breaks out into laughter, short but genuine. "Dude what the fuck?"

Shiro turns his face away and starts walking again. "I just hadn't really thought about it." He grumbles, and Keith runs to catch up, still snickering lightly under his breath.

Shiro is caught suddenly by the shock at how quickly Keith has changed since he told him about his Galran half. In the brief few hours since they spoke, he's been more open than Shiro had ever thought he could be, lighter and more expressive than before. He smiles to himself, happy that Keith is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uhhhhh  
> I may have gone slightly over my deadline  
> I really am sorry about the delay guys. I don't want to sound like a broken record, but the issues that I thought I had resolved pre-Christmas are still very much a thing, if slightly more manageable, and finding the energy and motivation to write recently has been stupid hard. And I don't mean to sound whiny, because I am overwhelming grateful to everyone who has read/kudos'ed/bookmarked/commented on any of my work, but the lack of response from the last chapter made it doubly difficult to find motivation to write. I know I was gone for a good few months, and I love writing, but I also love knowing whether or not people enjoy my work, so any feedback from you guys at all is just so inspiring for me to see.  
> Anyway, this is getting kind of long, so I'm going to once again apologise, and as always, kudos and comments are much appreciated  
> Thanks much xx


	7. Six: Concerning Big Suprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Shiro's life takes a turn he could never have imagined five days ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh so writing Adam is hard when there's only 5 seconds of him in canon, so please be patient with me if his characterization is all over the place at the minute  
> And seriously, 1000 hits?!? I'm so grateful guys, seriously this is so overwhelming for me, for my first fic to be getting this much attention.  
> Thankyou to everyone who has read, left kudos, bookmarked, et cetera xx
> 
> (On a side note, did y'all see Aaravos in the new season of tdp? Fucking gorgeous. Sorry Runaan)

When they enter, the food hall is empty, save for the four Paladins and himself. The noise the teens make echoes loudly around the room, even the smallest of sounds bouncing off the stone walls and magnifying tenfold. "Everyone else will have already eaten." Lance explains. "We're back much later than usual." He then disappears with Hunk through another door, coming back out again moments later with his arms laden with food in an almost comical fashion.

The hall is oddly reminiscent of the throne room, although much smaller. It consists of five long wooden tables placed length ways down the room, with padded benches running alongside them for seats. Both the walls and floor are crafted of the same dark stone, with multiple fireplaces spaced at measured intervals along the sides, but they lie cold and dormant now. The room is lit instead with sconces, small dancing flames that cast a dim light. At one end of the hall is a dais, on top of which is a table with chairs instead of benches, an ornate throne in the centre. A giant stained glass window takes up the majority of the wall behind it, but it's too dark to see what story it tells.

They reach the dais within a minute, and the Paladins are quick to collapse into seats behind the raised table, Lance and Hunk spreading their findings along it's length. Shiro, on the other hand, stops to take in the sight of it.

Like everything else in the castle, each of the chairs is beautifully crafted. Allura’s throne is made of gold, with a back higher than Shiro's standing height. On it's right is another throne, this time made of silver and slightly less imposing; Shiro takes an educated guess that this is Romelle's seat. The remaining chairs are made of a light wood that are decorated with intricate carvings. Following after Romelle's chair are four more places, although it's much harder for Shiro to discern who sits where on this half of the table. On Allura's left however, it's a much different story, not counting the fact that the Paladins have already sat down. Five more seats of pale wood, each one set with a gem just above where their heads reach. Somehow, each one is the perfect size for its respective Paladin, all except the chair displaying a sphere of obsidian; the seat on Allura's immediate left is small and plain, devoid of the adornments of the other seats.

Pidge seems to notice Shiro's stillness and focus on the Black Paladin's chair, as they are seated at the end of the table, close to where he's standing. "It's magic." They say, quiet but still hearable over the noise the other three are making in their conversation. Shiro cocks his head in a clear invitation for them to explain further. The movement makes Pidge smile, and they pushes their glasses further up the bridge of their nose as they continue.

"The chairs grow and shrink to suit the size of the owner, and the embellishments that appear are whatever most suits their taste. Hunk's seat, for example, is covered in carvings of symbols and patterns that have significance in his mother's tribe. Every Balmeran tribe has their own sigils that hold important historic or ritualistic meaning, so the chair adapted itself to suit this. My carvings come from my interest in ancient Olkarian blueprints that combine magic and science to create amazing mathematical equations." Pidge runs their hand over the arm of their chair, and then looks up at Shiro. "If you accept your bond with Black, then your chair will do the same. Until then, it will remain in its default."

Apparently satisfied with the explanation they gave, Pidge turns back to the food in front of them. Shiro decides that he's too hungry to contemplate things anymore, and walks down to where the space for the Black Paladin is. He stops when he reaches it, finding himself unable to simply sit in place. It feels odd, to stand by the chair that may one day grow to suit his needs, if he accepts this path life has opened up for him. It feels wrong to take the place of the Black Paladin when he is no closer to deciding on whether or not to stay. But then his stomach growls, and he finds that he's to hungry and tired for an existential crisis right now. He sits down, no matter how wrong it feels.

That night, Shiro could have cried over how good the food tasted.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Shrio is the first to head out, a full hour later. The food has long since been decimated, and the loud and brash talk from earlier has died down to a quite whisper, the subdued murmur a mere suggestion of a conversation. The hushed warmth of the room, the comfort of being full and in good company, begins to lull him into a sleepy state, his eyes drifting closed for longer periods every time, and he nearly brains himself on the table several times. Shiro finally decides it's time to go to bed when he realised that he's been absentmindedly drinking from an empty cup for ten minutes. He pushes back on his chair, and the subtle sound of the chair legs catching and dragging on the stone floor beneath it is enough to drown out his stifled yawn, but not to disrupt the flow of the Paladin's conversation. He stands up stretching, cat-like and full-bodied, before bidding his companions a quiet goodnight, and leaving out of the door he assumes is the one he came in through.

In his sleepy stupor, he's walking for several minutes before he realises that nothing around looks familiar to him. He comes to a slow stop, frowning slightly as he turns his head to look back over his shoulder. But it's no use - even if he was still in the same hallway, he wouldn't recognise the door to the food hall if it smacked him in the face. He groans, too tired to be having to deal with this right now, but ultimately decides to keep walking. He's got to come across something - or  _someone_ \- he recognises at some point.

But it's so late, and he's walking for what feels like years before he finds any other sign of life. It happens when he's trudging down Identical Corridor #59, feet dragging and head hanging like he's some extra in a low budget zombie film. A soft golden light suddenly flares up in his peripheral vision, a quiet melodic chanting spilling out from behind the partially open door, and Shiro doesn't stop walking because he wouldn't have the energy to start again, so instead he just angles his body towards the ajar door and keeps going until he's leaning against the frame with his amputated shoulder and raising his arm to knock sluggishly. The voice cuts off and the light fades, and Shiro registers the sound of footsteps walking swiftly towards him as the door swings open, and then he's stumbling forwards and tripping over his own feet and falling right into the poor person in front of him. They take a few steps back under the brunt of his weight, before steadying themselves, gripping Shiro's arm in a way that supports him but isn't uncomfortably tight, and now they're all but holding him up.

All Shiro can focus on is the warmth of their hand gripping his wrist, their other arm coming up to encircle his waist, and Shiro's face is pressed into their neck and his body is practically plastered against the poor person he's fallen on. He knows that he should get back on his feet and apologise and leave, but he's tired and his brain isn't working with him right now, and the person is so  _warm_ and  _strong_ and _solid_ under Shiro. And he can feel their hair tickling against his nape, and everything smells like the fucking Mexican hot chocolate his grandma made him once, warm and rich and spicy, so he just lets out a sigh and butchers the word "sorry", and tries not to be too conspicuous when he buries his face further into the space between their neck and shoulder. Judging by the laughter (which he feel more as a rumble through his chest than as a sound in his ears) he's not doing a very good job at being subtle.

Then the person speaks, and Shiro feels absolutely 0% shock when his tired mind recognises the voice. Despite his brain being able to do jack shit right now, his sub-conscious had realised who it was that he had barged in on before he'd even opened the door. The light, the singing, the scent and strength of the body holding him, and the fact that he had been reeled in completely, drawn to the warlock in sleep like he is while awake. And after all, with Shiro's luck it would have been impossible for him to meet anyone else when he's in a state where embarrassment is inevitable.

Adam is speaking, and Shiro has _no fucking clue_  what he's saying because he's too busy getting lost in the sound of his voice. It's much lower and gravelly than usual, like Adam had woken up a very short time ago out of a very heavy sleep, and  _fuck_ Shiro is too tired to adequately disguise his gay. He realises that Adam has stopped talking a second too late for him to make it appear like he was listening, so he just settles for an "uh" and revels in the quiet laughter it draws from the warlock.

"Are you even listening to me?" Adam asks, voice low and amused and practically whispered into Shiro's hair, and he can feel him smiling against his skin and Shiro is  _so fucked._ He reckons that he should make an effort to show that he's paying attention, so he pulls his head an inch away from Adam's neck to look up at him with bleary eyes, every fiber of his being screaming at him to stop and lie back down again. The expression on his face must be funny, because the warlocks is wearing a full blown 1000 watt grin - which really isn't fair for this time of night, and is giving Shiro heart palpitations - and then he's pulling away fully. Shiro is  _this close_ to whining "no" like some clingy toddler, but Adam's hand stay on his wrist and that's enough for him to prevent the complaint slipping out.

The warlock is pulling him gently across the room, over to a bed and  _oh no no no_. No. Shiro is not getting into Adam's bed. Not in this state.

A small voice in the back of his head, a tired and grumpy voice, is telling Shiro to shut the fuck up and get into bed so he can  _sleep._ But the rest of him, the sluggish and gay and much louder voice, is screaming, going into meltdown mode because  _this is Adam's bed._ And yes, technically Shiro has slept in Adam's bed before - except he hasn't. He's slept in a bed in one of Adam's lairs (He's too tired to come up with a better word for the underground rooms that Lance insists are Adam's quote unquote "witchy lairs"), but he's never been in Adam's actual room and he's definitely never been in Adam's actual bed.

He's slowed to a complete halt, eyes wide and brain attempting to bypass his sleepiness to run at double time. Adam seems to recognise his panic, eyes widening in realisation, before snapping his fingers. In a burst of flames, a futon appears to the side of him, looking so impossibly comfy that it's only Adam's hand - still on his wrist - that stops him from falling right into it this instant. Again, Adam seems to effortlessly decipher Shiro's thoughts, because he's chuckling under his breath and helping him to lie down. Shiro is unsteady, unbalanced from having a missing limb and semi-functional brain and a gay heart, but the warlock is strong and unfaltering, and in a flash Shiro is under the duvet, his eyes drifting closed.

As he succumbs to sleep, he could have sworn he heard Adam whisper a quiet goodnight.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning dawns bright through the windows of Adam's room.

Shiro wakes slowly, taking his time to return to consciousness. He can feel his body, all his muscles lazy in that well rested sort of way, and yawns deeply as he pushes his limbs outwards in a full-body stretch. His eyes drift open, the world sharpening into focus at the same languid pace that everything seems to be moving at today.

As he looks around, he realises that the room he's in is of a similar layout to the guest room from his first morning, acting not just as sleeping quarters but also a space for leisure and relaxation. Aside from the bed itself, chairs and sofas and lounges are strewn about the room, arranged around tables and rugs and fireplaces. He can count at least seven bowls of fruit from his position on the futon. On the far wall hangs a great mirror, not the only one in the room but by far the most impressive. It's hanging landscape on the wall, probably about three feet off the ground, and is held up by a gilt frame. Along the left wall of the room are four sets of glass double doors, acting both simultaneously as windows and exits onto the balcony Shiro can see stretching along the outside of the room.

The colours of the room are different though, purple paint with silver trim. The wood in the room is unique as well: Shiro originally believed it to be simple dark timber, but as he watches the panels, strands of burgundy and plum and lilac swirl though, moving like waves through the planks. The main difference is that this room is so obviously lived in. There are signs of Adam's existence littering the place, countless amounts of plants, random paraphernalia, old books and scrolls covering every available surface. Tapestries and paintings are hung upon the walls, some depicting detailed sketches of the inner workings of flora and fauna, several displaying what appears to be abstract lines and swirls in every colour Shiro knows and then some. The more interesting ones are those that appear to be moving, like little video feeds implanted on the walls. These one show people, some that Shiro recognises and some that he doesn't. In the one closest to him, the four Paladins are standing together, pushing playfully at each other with their faces split in laughter. In another, Adam has his arm wrapped around a smaller but older woman, both of them looking out with the same soft smile.

The warlock himself is no longer in his bed, Shiro notices a minute later, but unlike yesterday he's still in the room. Shiro can see him, sitting in an armchair facing one of the open french doors, the gauzy curtains billowing around him and occasionally obscuring him from view. His head is bowed, focused on something he's winding between his hands. Curiosity flickers through him, unobtrusive but there, and so Shiro drags himself out of the comfort of the bed and picks his way across the room.

Shiro slows to a halt just a few metres from Adam's side, but the warlock is so engrossed in whatever it is he's working on that he's still yet to realise his presence. This close, he can see pale strands of magic floating and winding through the air on the soft currents of the wind, practically blending in with the light that's pouring in through the open door. Adam's fingers are dancing, threading the quintessence together into a solid mass. A solid mass that vaguely resembles - 

Adam looks up at Shiro's sudden inhalation, startling slightly but not letting go of the magic in his hands. Shiro couldn't say what his expression is like, because he can't tear his eyes away from the shape cradled in his fingers to look at him. 

He's holding an arm.

It's - It's honestly gorgeous. Pale gold, almost white but slightly warmer, like the morning light itself. As it reaches the fingers the magic becomes slightly darker, like it's becoming more substantial. It glitters like it's moving, each individual thread of magic that forms the limb swirling around and around and around. Shiro can hardly remember to breath. 

"I hope this is okay." Adam's voice cuts through his reverie, and Shiro blinks back into the present, tearing his gaze up to meet the warlock's. Adam is standing now, the arm hovering over one hand while the other pushes his glasses back up his nose and then fidgets slightly, pulling at the lose strings of his sleeves. He looks nervous, hesitant and almost apologetic to some extent. "I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries, but I know that the Paladins left your prosthetic back in your reality, and then last night you were in pain, and whenever you move you seem slightly off-centre and I just thought that maybe I could-" Shiro is nodding, unable to do or say anything else, eyes fixed back on the arm that is an exact match to his own, and Adam's rambling is slowing and fading out. They stand in silence, only the subtle rushing sound of magic moving filling the space.

"Can I really- will it-" Shiro can only form broken sentences, unable to think of the other half of what he's attempting to express. But Adam seems to get it. He's meeting Shiro's eyes and nodding, uncertainty slipping away to be replaced with a confident grin. "Yeah. It's yours. It's finished and it's yours." He steps forward, into Shiro's space, and even now, when the only thing he can think of is  _arm arm arm I'm getting a new arm I'm getting a magic arm_ his heart doesn't forget to skip a beat or two. Then Adam's hand is on his shoulder, manoeuvring him into the chair that he had previously occupied, and he's kneeling by his side, bring the magic closer to the stump of his amputated limb and everything is moving  _so fast_ yet _so slow._

Then the arm is perfectly aligned, just an inch from his flesh, and Adam is meeting his eyes. "This is gonna feel pretty weird, and it's gonna take sometime getting used to. But you'll be able to move it and feel it and use it like a regular arm, so - are you ready?" And Shiro is breathing out, a gasped "Yes" escaping with the air, and then-

And then he can feel again.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy, so this is much earlier than last time. My mood seems to be swinging up rather than down for once, although that may be because Spring is in the air.  
> I think I'm going to try and settle into a bi-monthly update routine, although we all know how that worked out for me last time •-• anyway, I really am making an effort to stick with schedule and actually write shit now, so I would really appreciate any thoughts or criticisms you guys leave.  
> Also, if y'all ever wanna scream about vld/spop/tdp/bnha (although I'm only halfway though season 2 so you might have to hold back a bit on this one), I have a tumblr for this account - https://www.tumblr.com/blog/b-g--tt-wr-t-s  
> As always, kudos and comments are much appreciated  
> Thanks much xx


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